Adi Magazine

“I hadn’t been speaking this much for a very long time,” Omaid Sharifi confided at the end of our conversation. And it’s easy to understand why, given the breakneck pace at which ArtLords, the ‘artivist’ collective of street artists he co-founded ten years ago in Kabul, has regrouped—in other words, stayed alive—and carried on their mission to promote social change through artmaking despite the Taliban’s return to power in Afghanistan in August 2021. The last few years have been full of reflections on exile, loss, displacement, as Sharifi was forced to flee his home and now lives in the United States. The murals, however, could not move and many have been destroyed by the Taliban. But, as Sharifi noted, “When the Taliban sought to erase the vibrant, defiant murals of ArtLords from Kabul’s streets, they underestimated the resilience of both the artists and their creations.” Over time, some of the murals have been recreated, their ideas and images finding new canvasses on blank walls across the world as an act of defiance. ArtLords’ experience across Afghanistan and beyond represents a powerful tale of audacity, blending art and activism into new forms of expressions and exploring how art can survive in exile. 

This interview has been edited for clarity and editorial purposes.

Farah Abdessamad (FA): At the heart of ArtLords is the desire to see change—social change—using art as a conduit for transformative conversations. Yet we have seen some Afghans welcome the return of the Taliban to power in 2021. How did you grapple with this and do feel that there was perhaps a distance between the aspirations of a young generation connected with the rest of the world and those who wanted stability, security, and an end to corruption after years of hardships? 

Omaid Sharifi (OS): It’s a very complex question. I have always said that the Taliban are somehow the reality of this country, but it’s a very small reality of Afghanistan. The reason why some people welcomed their return is because we have been in war and conflict for many decades. I spent all my life not only under conflict and violence, but also corruption and mismanagement. People were fed up and they were longing for some peace, quiet, stability, and less corruption. But the stability and peace that came with the Taliban also came with a lot of repression and fear. This is not how I want stability in Afghanistan. What the majority of Afghans want is peace and stability and less corruption through democratic ways, through human rights, women’s rights, and education. This is also the core of our vision with ArtLords. 

FA: ArtLords has been at the junction of art and activism from the start, although many people might look at these as separate categories. Are these two notions neatly separated in your mind and experience?

OS: Art and activism for me are inseparable through the work that we do at ArtLords. Art is the medium and activism is the message. Simple as that. As we brought the two together—I call it artivism—we use this notion to encourage people to ask questions, to inspire people to discuss change. We believe in the power of art and that murals are an artistic expression of people who are fed up with corruption, with issues of conflict and violent extremism. It’s connected, art and activism depend on each other. 

FA: How did this idea of artivism take shape in Afghanistan before ArtLords started? 

OS: Art has always been a very important part of our culture. According to some research, the oldest oil paintings in the world can be found in the caves of Bamiyan in Afghanistan’s central highlands. A friend once said, “If you dig two meters in any part of the country, you will find a musical instrument or a cultural artifact. What we did with ArtLords, which was very new, was to bring art to the people, letting people come up with their own ideas and express their grievances—that was the difference. Previously, narratives were set by the ruling political parties or opposition or warring factions, but this time art became a tool for communities from all over Afghanistan to set up their own—our own—narratives. And that’s why every single mural involved between fifty to two hundred people. Anybody was welcome to join. 

FA: I was reading on your website a statement that says: “Our story began with a bold vision: to use the blank walls of Kabul as canvases to paint messages of peace, hope, and social change.” Were these anti-blast walls that ArtLords painted on? Are you covering, replacing, or revealing a message through mural art?

OS: I was raised, educated, and lived all my life until now in Afghanistan. It’s my homeland: every street, every corner, especially of Kabul city and the provinces where I lived during the civil war. Seeing the high security walls erected every day all over the country, these symbols of fear and separation, was heartbreaking. They occupied a space that was mine. I felt they were taking something away from me. When we started ArtLords the whole idea was to reclaim these spaces. Imagine: these walls are eight meters tall, made of concrete and steel, ugly like a prison. The moment we saw them, we said, “These are our blank canvases.” And this led to the first paintings and messages of unity, hope, love, kindness. When we completed a couple of murals, we realized that this movement had the potential to bring a lot of beauty and dialogue to a space that revolved around war. In a space dominated by fear and separation, we brought beauty, life, and healing. 

FA: Growing up, you lived in Kabul but also in the provinces?

OS: Because of the civil war, we all had to live and move around thirty places in a short span of time. Even in Kabul we lived in ten to fifteen places. 

FA: And during all these instances of displacement, there was no question about leaving Afghanistan?

OS: I was very young, so it never came to my mind. I don’t know why my dad didn’t. Probably if we had a chance, we might have but we always thought that this is our home, our land. Somehow, we had to be here and contribute in a positive way, so we never left. Even some of our family members left for Pakistan and Iran but we stayed and experienced everything that went on in the country. 

FA: And now you have left. How do you feel about it today?

OS: It’s very difficult for me to respond to that question. I go through physical and mental health challenges, and it’s not always easy to know how to deal with them. I am lucky because I live in Washington, D.C. with my family, but at the same time [in Afghanistan], a lot of people are starving, culture is dying…all of these things are on my mind. So I don’t know how I am. I take it day by day. I survive one day at a time. It takes time to process all of this. 

FA: It takes time and one thing that very much inspired me is how you take healing in both the message that is being conveyed through ArtLords projects but also in the art itself. One example is when the Taliban destroyed some of the murals, which have now resurfaced in places like the US and Switzerland. It’s also interesting that artistically, we often associate mural art and graffiti with fleetingness, yet by recreating these murals you’re showing how durable they can be.  

OS: I read somewhere the famous saying that “you cannot kill an idea.” The messages we communicated on the walls, in galleries or art cafés, they live within people. Having an opportunity to repaint some of these murals in different spaces shows the power of solidarity, empathy. 

FA: What does exile mean to you in this context?

OS: Exile is loss—of your home, identity, friends, family. I lost a lot the moment I jumped on one of those planes that left Kabul in August 2021. I still cannot process the trauma. I had to find myself in this new country [the United States]. I have carried all my culture, all my memories, all my stories in just one bag. But at the same time, exile is also resilience—although I don’t like this word. It is also about gaining strength and power to feel more connected. This exile made me double down on the work I was doing, which is supporting art and culture. If I told you that I had not taken a day off in the last three years, I would not be lying; I was doing everything I could to support and evacuate artists, and to make sure my family is safe. That is all part of exile. 

FA: I’d like to talk about those global solidarities and connections that you’ve fostered over the years. What kind of multicultural projects has ArtLords supported that may have connected with other exiled artists from other settings?

OS: Initially, beyond the border of Afghanistan, we were focusing on South Asia. We had projects in Sri Lanka on how to connect artists with civil society activists, and we had projects in Pakistan, in India, in Bangladesh where we were working with university students. The art labs and art spaces that we created in South Asia were phenomenal because we really brought a new way of connecting activists with artists in that part of the world. Since we have an office in the US now, we have reached out to more parts of the world. For example, we are connecting with civil society activists and artists in South Africa, activists in Malaysia, and people in Nepal fighting corruption. We have shared different tools with them on how to use art as a medium for messages of social change. And we provide support for at-risk artists, including artists from Gaza, Sudan, Yemen, Ukraine, Myanmar, be it mental health support or through projects. 

FA: Many people in your team grew up in the diaspora before they returned to Afghanistan, in places like Iran and other places. How have you been able to share these experiences of displacement right now with those who may have experienced this before? How do you find ways to connect, not just functionally and digitally, but also through this moment?

OS: This is my second Thanksgiving. The first time I was in Virginia, I tried to cook a turkey, and I invited most of my team members who had evacuated to the US. I hosted ten of my artists and this year I welcomed twenty-five for Thanksgiving dinner. One of the ways that we cope and heal is through coming together, spending time together and talking about the trauma that we went through. But we also have conversations about visioning, about the future. My name in Persian means hope. In our part of the world, a name has a weight, and you have to carry that weight with you. So, I have to be an optimist.